A Bloody Big Secret
by indigovioletstargazer
Summary: James Bond and John Watson are shocked to discover that Q is the youngest Holmes brother. Egos clash and unexpected emotions surface when Sherlock, John, James and Q antagonise each other in the pursuit of the ever-elusive Moriarty. (00Q/Johnlock). Post 'Skyfall' & 'His last Vow'.
1. Chapter 1

James Bond gazed out of the pub window beyond his sombre reflection and assessed the London morning without _her_. The usual grey, rainy street scene interspersed with red double decker buses wheezing to a halt and umbrella-wielding jaywalkers dashing for the black cabs that were queued in an orderly British fashion. All bustling, normal and familiar, but somehow noticeably emptier without M.

Mallory was right of course, Bond admitted graciously. Still _lots to be done_. He was the best possible replacement for M and fully supportive of Agent 007 maintaining an active role within MI6. Mallory and Q had both been wise to dismiss Eve Moneypenny's suggestion that Bond take a few weeks off after the bloodbath at Skyfall. Both insightful enough to keep Bond busy with fieldwork to fend off any stray demons that could infiltrate the barren spaces proliferating within him since the previous M had died.

"Ah, there you are." The sodden Quartermaster materialised out of nowhere and invaded Bond's private drinking and thinking space. "Good morning 007."

"What are you doing here?" Bond groaned as he eyed Q's familiar brown cardigan, drenched and suspiciously looking like it might be covering blue and white flannel pyjamas. Dripping spectacles and green corduroy slippers completed Q's soggy attire. "Couldn't you have got dressed before coming out in the rain?"

"No time to waste on such frivolities," Q sat down at the rustic pine table. "I need your help."

"A beer first?" Bond gestured genially to the list of ales on tap at bar. "The bartender recommended the _Skull Splitter_."

Q winced. "It's 8.52am and I've been drinking Earl Grey all night… and looking for you since dawn."

"I came out for morning coffee before work," Bond shrugged. "Got sidetracked here by the promise of a hearty English breakfast."

"More heart disease than hearty," Q shuddered at the remnants of black pudding on Bond's greasy plate and tumbler of Martini alongside.

"Man can't survive on Earl Grey alone," Bond eyed Q's slender frame in his sodden clothes. His usually luxuriant brown hair scraggly and reminiscent of a recently bathed feline.

"My tea consumption is supplemented with toast and Marmite," Q grinned.

Infant memories of spreadable yeast extract sandwiches made Bond nauseously swallow the involuntary salivary influx. "What can I do for you, Q?"

"My brother's parten... erm... best friend's wife has been abducted." Q interlaced his slender fingers apprehensively. "I need your help to find her."

"Tell me about the victim," Bond was mostly surprised to learn that Q had a brother.

"Pregnant female called Mary Watson," Q shifted anxiously on the wooden stool. "Snatched in broad daylight on Baker Street."

"A kidnapping? Any ransom?" Bond speculated. "Has your brother called the police?"

"My brother is the police," Q gestured abstractly. "Well sort of."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's complicated," Q sighed. "Have you heard of Doctor John Watson, or his wife Mary?"

"If you mean Captain John Watson, the army doctor, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, then yes, of course I've heard of him," Bond bristled. "Sidekick to that dangerous, _alleged_ -genius Sherlock Holmes. But we're not talking about that John Watson are we? Because that would mean…"

Q lowered his eyelashes in embarrassment.

"Sherlock Holmes is your _brother_?!" James Bond gawped at his Quartermaster in realisation. "That's a bloody big secret you've been keeping Q."

"No secret," Q quipped nervously. "It just never came up in conversation."

"But Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath!" Bond had read all about the cold-blooded killing of Charles Augustus Magnussen at Appledore and Sherlock's subsequent four minutes in exile on an aeroplane. It all happened whilst Bond was up in Scotland at Skyfall.

"Sherlock prefers to call himself a high-functioning sociopath."

"How did you get security clearance for MI6 with a brother like that?" Bond groaned. "Oh God, don't tell me. Even _bigger_ brother Mycroft bloody Holmes had a quiet word in dear old M's ear?"

"My promising career in espionage has nothing to with my two older siblings," Q pouted. Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft know where I work."

"Don't be naive Q! Of course they'll know. One is the world's only consulting detective and the other literally _is_ the British Government!"

"You underestimate the lengths I go to ensure they don't find out," Q chuckled.

Intrigued, Bond arched an inquiring eyebrow and wondered what other secrets Q might be hiding.

"I'll tell you about it some other time," Q fumbled with his glasses dismissively. "But in the meantime we better find Mary Watson before Sherlock and John do any more damage in this city. They've lost it. Both been rampaging through the criminal underworld overnight."

"Do you have any idea who might have kidnapped Doctor Watson's wife?" Bond started joining the dots and slowly his blue eyes brightened. He caressed the black file lying alongside his plate. "Oh God, you don't actually think it's… _Him_?"

"Moriarty." Q nodded. "Thought you might be interested."


	2. Chapter 2

"What makes you think he can help us?" John Watson struggled to match Sherlock Holmes's wading strides across the taxi rank. Both dodging the deepening puddles as the morning grey drizzle turned to thunderous rain.

"Get in." Sherlock reached the black cab first, impatient rather than chivalrous he snatched open the dripping door. "Hurry!"

So where are we meeting this _Kew_ guy?" John clambered into the vehicle, closely followed by Sherlock. They slumped into the rear leather seat, cold, wet and tired from a night of seeking Mary who'd now been missing for over eighteen hours.

"The Cock and Lion," Sherlock fidgeted and scanned the faces of the scowling commuters as they sped off. "Wigmore Street." _Was Moriarty hiding in plain sight?_ He leaned forward to get a closer look at the ruddy neck of the chubby taxi driver.

"Bit early for the pub isn't it," John's fingers raked through his damp blonde hair. He was exhausted and cynical about Sherlock's earlier suggestion that some mysterious whizz kid assist them in finding his missing wife, Mary. "So is this Kew guy another of your _helpful_ alcoholic friends? Or one of the Homeless network?"

Sherlock turned away and squinted, irritably wiping condensation off the window. "My brother rarely drinks alcohol," He finally settled, satisfied that their cabbie was not going to metamorphose into Moriarty. "Earl Grey is his tipple of choice."

"Um… Mycroft drinks alcohol," John arched a puzzled eyebrow, mystified by Sherlock's erroneous comment. "You know damn well that some days he drinks more scotch than tea. Is Mycroft meeting us at the pub too?"

"I meant Q, not Mycroft," Sherlock mumbled absently, watching the raindrops flick upwards, as he tapped elegant fingers on his long coat. "My younger brother Q."

"Younger brother?" John's mouth hung open, he glanced out of the rain spattered side window then back to Sherlock in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, haven't I mentioned him before?" Sherlock yawned theatrically. "Q is the youngest Holmes brother… And definitely the most boring."

"What's his real name? The only Kew I've heard of is the Royal Botanic Garden in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames…"

"I can't remember," Sherlock shrugged dismissively. "He's always insisted we call him Q… as in the seventeenth letter of the modern english alphabet, not Kew Gardens."

"Well is Q short for something?" John perturbment escalated at Sherlock not knowing his own brother's name. "Quentin? Quinn?"

"I'll ask Mummy next time I see her," Sherlock scratched his head. "She might remember."

"Isn't it inside your mind palace?" John was bewildered. "Or can't you ask Q himself?"

"Aha!" Sherlock exclaimed as if he'd just solved a cryptic crossword clue. "As a child Q liked to pretend he was a captain in the British Army. His battalion was responsible for distributing technical supplies. As a former army man I assume you know about that sort of thing?"

"Technical Quartermaster?" John nodded. "Is that what he pretended to be?"

"Yes Q must stand for Quartermaster!"

John snorted. "So you, Mycroft and your little brother played soldiers and games like _normal_ children?"

"Certainly not," Sherlock winced and shuddered at such a preposterous assumption. "Mycroft and I refused to play his stupid, boring games, but at least Q's two kittens appreciated his efforts. Q was quite the inventor, always issuing them with fancy electronic collars, or computerised scratching posts."

"Does Q have a job?" asked John. "You said he was a whizz kid?"

"I don't know… something boring probably, but his little hobby is still tinkering with electronics and computers… Look we're nearly there," Sherlock pointed to the road sign ahead. "Next junction."

"I can't believe you have a younger brother," John fumbled in his pocket, withdrawing his wallet ready to pay the fare. "You never fail to surprise me Sherlock."

"Let's just hope Q can help us find Mary…" Sherlock's eyes darkened, "and Moriarty."


End file.
